


Tears I Can't Fight On My Own

by callmechristinae



Series: Livejournal Migration [25]
Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-03
Updated: 2006-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:52:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmechristinae/pseuds/callmechristinae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was all Roger's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tears I Can't Fight On My Own

It started simply. He had just been having a hard time sleeping, that was all. Of course, not being able to sleep at all for two weeks straight could be a small problem.  _Just a little one._  Roger said that he was acting like he was PMSing and made him go see the doctor, pretending to be the caring boyfriend and all that shit. So, really,  _this was all Roger's fault_.  
  
It was definitely Roger's fault that he was laying on his bed, trembling with these intense cramps in his stomach. He had already spent the last few hours hunched over the toilet, shaking so hard he had hit his head rather hard on the unforgiving porcelain.  _Fuck that had hurt._  
  
He didn't know that it would be like this when he ran out. The doctor told him to take some when he couldn't sleep.  _I couldn't help it if it was every night for a month._  
  
Mark always thought you could tell right away when you became an addict. He was pretty sure Roger had known that he was addicted to heroin, that he could feel it's pull when he wasn't high.  _That he felt like his skin was crawling when it was around time for another pill._  That he always knew where it was and planned his day around when he would take it.  _That he kept it hidden away in a special place so no one could take it away from him._  That he made excuses for the way he felt sick to his stomach when he tried not to take the hit.  _That he couldn't relax until he had the little pill in his hand..._  
  
Okay, maybe he had known that he was addicted. But, that wasn't the point.  
  
Mark shook his head frantically. It felt like thoughts were floating into his head and he couldn't tell where he ended and his subconcious began. He gripped his head tightly, trying to put his thoughts in order so he could figure out what to do next. If only  _I could just think clearly for one goddamn_  minute.  
  
 _Fuck, I'm losing my mind._  
  
Mark rose unsteadily to his feet. He wavered for a moment, making his way over to the dresser in the corner of his room. He rooted through his sock drawer, tossing the empty orange bottle onto his mattress with a huff. He twisted around, spinning frantically in place as he tried to think. He froze when a small white paper fluttered to the ground.  
  
 _What the fuck?_  
  
Mark bent down, taking the paper delicately in his fingers. He saw the doctor's familiar unreadable scrawl, seeing a prescription for a renewal of his Valium.  
  
 _What kind of fucking doctor prescribes so much pain killer for a little insomnia? Goddamn quack._  
  
 _But this means I can get more. I only need a little. Just to help me sleep. After that, I won't need anymore._  
  
 _Stop it, you're fucking addicted. Remember what you told Roger when he begged you to get out for another hit._  
  
 _But it hurts so much._  
  
 _You're strong, you can...fuck, you're, damnit, I'm arguing with myself. This is driving me insane._  
  
Mark fell heavily on his mattress, his arms wrapped tightly around his slender trembling frame.  
  
 _Why have I been having such a goddamn hard time sleeping? What is there that I'm losing sleep over?_  
  
Mark rolled over onto his side, unknowingly drawing angry red marks across his arms with ragged torn fingernails.  
  
 _Life is going well. All my friends are happy. Collins is away at school, Joanne is a partner at the firm now, Maureen's happy being Maureen, Mimi's in some play, Benny hasn't been bitching lately, he and Roger were getting along great, his film was doing well, he hadn't been getting laid this much in years..._  
  
Mark flinched at the knock on his door, the prescription crumpling in his fisted hand. He opened his eyes slightly, taking in the dirty floorboards under his face.  
  
 _Wait? How'd I get on the floor?_  
  
"Mark! Come on, get up! I'm hungry! Let's go down to the Life and get some grub."  
  
 _Fuck off, can't you tell I'm busy dying here._  
  
Mark rose once more to trembling legs, wiping sweat from his forehead and attempting to make himself look at least somewhat presentable as he opened the door.  
  
"Jesus Mark! You look like shit!"  
  
 _Okay, guess I didn't get myself as ready as I thought I had. I know something that could make it better._  
  
"How about I meet you there Roger, I've got to go somewhere first."  
  
"You don't look so good, how about I go do whatever errand it is you need to do. Then I'll pick you up some of that vegetable soup you like so much from the restaurant down the street from the pharmacy."  
  
"NO!"  
  
Mark bit his lip and looked down to the ground, wrapping his arms around himself once more as Roger stared down at him, question evident in his eyes.  
  
"Have you still not been sleeping well?" Roger asked, reaching out to brush a strand of hair off Mark's forehead. His eyebrows furrowed as his friend flinched away from his touch.  
  
 _He doesn't really care. He's just feeling guilty that this is his fault. Wait. He doesn't know it's his fault. Maybe he thinks I have the flu. Maybe I do just have the flu. How do you start a fire when there's nothing to burn and it feels like something's stuck in your flue? Huh?_  
  
"I'm fine Roger, I've just got to go pick up a prescription."  
  
 _Shit._  
  
"For what?" Roger tilted his head to the side, obviously thinking something over. He took in the way Mark was trembling, a drop of sweat making its way down his forehead. He saw the angry red scratchs on his arms, hating the way he leaned in slightly to look for signs of a needle.  
  
"What the fuck do you want Roger?"  
  
 _Shit. Did I say that out loud?_  
  
"Nothing, I was just trying to help. Jesus," Roger muttered, wrapping his own arms around himself defensively. He wondered what he had missed out on in the time he had been at work. He looked back up to his boyfriend, trying to make eye contact.  
  
Mark kept avoiding Roger's gaze.  _How come whenever he looks at me I feel like his gazing straight through to my soul?_  
  
"What's that in your hand?"  
  
 _I don't like how he can do that, I'm always trying so hard so that people can't...wait..._  
  
"What?"  
  
"That piece of paper that you're trying to strangle."  
  
Mark looked down to his trembling fist.  _How'd that get there?_  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Come on Mark, just show me." Roger reached out towards Mark, taking the trembling pale hand in his. He tried to unwrap the slender fingers, but realized they weren't budging.  
  
"No."  
  
Mark kept his hands tightly around the paper, worrying his bottom lip to the point where he could taste the blood with the tip of his tongue.  _He can't have it. He'll take it away from me._  
  
"What's the big deal, just let me see..."  
  
"I said no! Just...back off, please."  
  
Roger stepped bag, concern evident in his eyes at the way Mark's voice had cracked and dropped to a mere whisper.  
  
Mark crushed his fists to his eyes, ignoring the frames of his glasses pressing into his face. He didn't notice as the paper slipped out of his hand, and he certainly didn't notice as Roger picked it up and smoothed it out.  
  
"Mark? What is this?"  
  
The filmmaker froze, every muscle going rigid as he heard Roger's voice. It wasn't a voice he was used to hearing from the rocker. Roger didn't express this emotion, ever.  _He's afraid. Why's he afraid?_  
  
"Mark? Answer me, please?" Mark peeked out from under his hands to see the rough hand on his shoulder, the thumb moving in gentle circles.  _Around and around and around and..._  
  
Roger jumped, startled as Mark broke away from him.  
  
"It's MY GODDAMN LIFE Roger! You have NO right to judge me," Mark shouted, anger blazing in his eyes as he pointed at a spot near Roger's head.  
  
"I'm not judging you Mark, I just want to help you." Roger placed his hands out in front of him in what he hoped was a placating gesture, moving cautiously into his boyfriend's room. He wasn't used to seeing Mark look so young, so broken.  
  
"You can't help me, don't you understand?" Mark whispered, his voice strangely smooth and calm. It took all he had not to shove Roger out of the way and rush out the door. If he could just get one more bottle, it would all be okay.  
  
 _I'm too fucked up. Why are you even here anymore?_  
  
"Because I love you."  
  
 _Shit. Am I talking out loud?_  
  
"Oh Mark, we'll get through this. But you need to let me in." Roger placed his hands carefully on Mark's shoulders, wanting nothing more than to pull him close.  
  
The two stood frozen for a minute, the moonlight filtering in softly through the window. This was the moment that would make or break them. Mark's chin dropped to his chest as Roger started to slowly let his hands drift to Mark's back.  
  
"Roger."  _Help me._  
  
The rocker sighed in relief as Mark collapsed in his arms, the tears flowing from his crystalline eyes. The two fell together in a heap on the mattress. Roger carefully settled so that he could lay comfortably with Mark atop him, securely in his arms.  
  
"I'm here baby, I'm here. Don't worry. I'll take care of you. This will all get better, just be strong for me." Roger felt tears spring into his eyes at the whimper that escaped the too small bundle in his arms. He wished that he had noticed earlier, then maybe he could have been more of a help.   
  
"Shhhhh," he hushed, beginning to sing softly.  
  
 **Tonight, you can dream you're a star**  
 **You can walk on the clouds**  
 **And float on the ground**  
 **And I'm with you**  
  
"Roger, I'm sorry for yelling at you, I just..." Roger could feel Mark's hands scrambling against his chest and carefully placed his left hand atop them. He kept his right hand on the filmmaker's shoulder blade, holding him in place gently without restraining him.  
  
"I know Mark, I've been there, remember? You were there to hold my hand the whole way through. I'll be here for you, we'll get through this together."  
  
"Make it stop, please." Roger's eyes clenched shut. He never liked to hear Mark in pain. Once he thought about it, he realized he had hardly ever heard Mark in pain.  
  
"It'll get better. You just need to give it time. Just a couple weeks and it will be all over."  
  
"Stay with me Roger, don't leave me. Please. I don't want to be alone."  
  
"I'm here Mark, I'm here baby. Just rest. I'll be here when you wake up. Just try to get some sleep."  
  
The two Bohemians lay on the bed, the filmmaker's breath evening out slowly after several hours of soft singing from the songwriter.  
  
 **When your dreams give out**  
 **I will carry you, carry you**  
 **When the stars go blind and the darkness starts to flood your eyes.**  
 **When you're falling behind, I will carry you, carry you**


End file.
